A Knight's Story
by QueenCamelot1
Summary: Just some short stories on what might have happened in the Knights' pasts to make them the way they are.


Chapter 1 – Lancelot

Wailing echoed down the narrow street, two ecstatic – though exhausted – parents tried to clam their new born child. The tiny baby seemed insistent on being the centre of attention, his mother and father were only happy to oblige. As the child drifted to sleep, soothed by the gentle rocking of his mother's arms, both of the elder Du Lacs vowed to keep him safe. They vowed to grant his every wish, vowed to be there for him when no one else could.

News spread fast in a town as small as Marlithe, so it was no great surprise that by dusk everyone had already learnt of the carpenter's son. The baker had been telling all of his customers of his neighbours' new arrival, the customers passed on the good news in turn. Soon everyone was talking, always repeating one word - a name, Lancelot.

The young family lived in peace for a few years, as peaceful as a two-roomed house could get when inhabited by a growing child. Little Lance was three years old when his parents were blessed with a second child. A month later, they moved away from Marlithe and into a slightly larger house in the neighbouring village of Wenham. Lancelot was four years old when his baby sister was born. He had had to stay with the village blacksmith's family for the night, and when he returned home at dawn she was cradled in his mother's arms. People called her Angharad, but to Lance she would always be baby Annie.

The first time disaster struck the Du Lac family was when Lancelot was seven, a fever had spread through the country, slaying hundreds of people like a vicious monster. Several people claimed to be able to cure this disease but very few were truly capable. By keeping the children inside and only venturing outside when absolutely necessary, Folant and Delwyn Du Lac managed to keep the illness at bay. Two months into this dreadful year and a terrible famine fell over the kingdoms. With most farmers ill there was no one to tend to their crops. The crops died leaving a country without food. The lack of essential foods made everyone more vulnerable to the disease.

Annie was growing fast, and proudly told anyone who would listen that she was four years and three months old whilst holding up four little fat fingers. One day when she awoken by her parents, the enthusiasm just died. She had contracted the disease from somewhere, but everyone was at a loss as to where from. Annie hadn't left the house to go to the village for weeks. The farthest she had gone was to her father's workshop, next door to the main house. That was obviously all it took, the disease was deadly.

Rain poured from the heavens, drowning plants and flooding valleys. The heavy rainfall was not enough to drown out a child's cries to her mother though. Angharad was no better, the future looked grim for the young girl. Folant had retreated to his workshop in the hope that – should he ignore it – the problem would go away. Lancelot was curled in a tight ball in his own bed, willing the disease to go away and leave them be before death struck. Delwyn sat by her daughter's side, mopping her burning brow and holding her hand through the dreadful nightmares that were caused by the fever. A sharp rap at the wooden door brought Folant from the light slumber he had fallen into. The dark-haired man slowly lifted his body from the workbench he had been resting on and headed towards the workshop door. A cloaked man stood behind the door, seemingly unaffected by the weather. He spoke gently, barely raising his voice above a whisper. The man explained that his name was Gwydion and that he believed there was a young girl awaiting his help in the house. There was nothing the man could do to hurt Annie further so her helpless father gratefully opened the door to him and welcomed him into the house. Gwydion told Delwyn that he could cure Angharad but at a price. The family would have paid any sum of money to save their baby girl and so they agreed. Within minutes the child was saved, Gwydion – having told the youthful parents that he expected to have received the money before the month was out – left the house.

For two weeks the family was in a blissful daze, Angharad was safe and wonderfully healthy. The remainder of the month was spent searching for and earning the gold to foot the bill of life. The month passed far too quickly and the sorcerer was left waiting for his coins. The Du Lacs lived on a tight budget, profits from Folant's carpentry business were spent on food and clothing. There was barely any money to spare, let alone enough to pay the sorcerer.

The second time disaster struck the Du Lac family was when Lancelot was eleven years old. Gwydion the sorcerer had yet to paid the money he earned four years previously. The man was out to seek revenge. Little seven-year-old Angharad had mysteriously drowned in the river while she was picking a bunch of lilacs. A fresh bunch of lilacs was placed in front of her gravestone every day. The stone stood above the place where she was laid, in a clearing next to the very same river. Folant, Delwyn and Lancelot never stopped mourning Annie. She was never forgotten.

The third and final time disaster struck the Du Lac family was when Lancelot was sixteen, Angharad would have been twelve the next day. Lance and his parents never found out the circumstances in which she died. Gwydion wanted them to realise the truth, her life in place of fifteen gold coins. They would never have known. This is why, four years after her tragic death, two more stones joined Annie's. A fire roared through the family home, only Lancelot was able to escape, Folant and Delwyn trapped inside.

The young man lost anything he had ever owned in thode flames. His home, his family, his belongings, his money - all gone.

Perhaps it was lack of money which brought Lancelot Du Lac to the great citadel of Camelot. Perhaps it was the wish of a new life. The journey took three weeks, several miles were walked each day. The trek forced Lanceelot to realise that he really, truly had nothing. He didn't even have a village to call his home anymore. It was ten years since Folant and Delwyn Du Lac had perished in the fire of Wenham. Ten long years of pretending and moving on before a soul could even ask his name. Ten years of dreaming.

The disappointment which flooded him at the news of Camelot's first code was only to be expected. As though someone like him could become a knight of a kingdom as vast and noble as this one. Meeting people like Merlin and Gwen seemed to knock some sense into him though. Maybe he would settle down and become a husband - a father. Maybe he would be a carpenter like his father. Who knew what the future would bring.


End file.
